


In the Wee, Small Hours of the Morning

by ncruuk



Series: Behind the Beret - being Bernie [3]
Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 07:32:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6648178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncruuk/pseuds/ncruuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Supposedly, nothing good ever happens in the early hours of the morning, when it's too close to dawn to still be night, but too close to midnight to be morning.  </p><p>But it's also in those darkest, hours of the night that people who need to be brave find courage, and people who need to be strong find support.</p><p>It's the time when Bernie and Alex find their way back to each other.<br/>[Post ep 'fix-it' for Prioritise the Heart]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story starts a non-specific number of months ('a few') after the events of 'Prioritise the Heart'.
> 
> This story was originally written in the few days between the airing of 'Prioritise the Heart' [aka 'the one with Alex'] and 'Out of Sight Out of Mind' [aka 'the one with the divorce papers'}. It was then 'tweaked' after the 'The Cowards Way' [aka 'the one where it all goes horribly wrong'] as the show canon was now complete in terms of Bernie's children (names and ages).
> 
> It was therefore also written before 'Running Out' which saw Bernie move from Keller to AAU.

_“Somebody likes grapes... “ observed Mo, coming up to the doctor’s station where Zosia was staring at the message attached to an impressively large delivery of grapes._

 

_“Hands off.”  Zosia turned to look at Mo who was trying not to look like someone who hadn’t been about to help themselves to a grape.  “They’re for a patient,” explained Zosia, her expression clouding as she turned back to the note._

 

_“What’s wrong?”  There was something about Zosia’s expression that made Mo abandon any attempt at humour, “whose are they?”_

 

_“The grapes?  They’ve been sent to Major Wolfe…” Zosia saw Mo’s blank look and rushed to explain.  “Wife of Mr Dunn, ortho consultant at St James’; she’s an army trauma surgeon, arrived here from Afghanistan…”_

 

_“Right…” Mo glanced to the room where, behind closed doors, she presumed the Major was just shaking off the last of her anaesthetic, remembering overhearing some discussion about the case earlier, “...so what’s the problem?  With the grapes?”_

 

_“It’s the message…” Zosia turned the basket of grapes slightly, so it was easier for Mo to read what had been neatly printed by an unknown hand._

 

_“Ok…”  Prepared to see something highly inappropriate, Mo read the unexpectedly tame message aloud, as if wanting to double check there wasn’t any hidden message in the innocuous looking words.  “Get well soon, then get back here, on the double soldier.  Alex.”  Mo silently read the words on the card again before looking at Zosia.  “I don’t see the problem?”_

 

_“The surgery…” Zosia took a deep breath, finding it hard to believe despite having seen the situation first hand, “...it didn’t work.”_

 

_“Which one?”  Even as she asked the question, Mo knew the answer: if Ollie had been struggling with the pseudo-aneurism she’d have not only heard about it, but she’d be part of the conversation to plan their next steps._

 

_“Spine…”  Zosia looked at the heap of grapes, sent with such confidence, presumably intended to amuse the Major and remind her that she had fellow officers who expected her return.  “The trauma was worse than the scans showed - when they opened her neck up in theatre they discovered the spinal cord was already damaged beyond repair.”  Zosia looked at Mo, not caring if she looked more emotional than her professional position suggested was appropriate.  “She’s paralysed, she’s not going back.”_

 

_***********_

 

_The jeep had barely stopped moving before a sandy-brown blur had launched itself from the passenger seat and set off running into the Wyvern Wing of Holby General Hospital, the scrap of paper with the directions to the Darwin Ward scribbled in an almost illegible hand.  Ignoring the lift and the stares she got, Alex Dawson ran to the stairs and started sprinting up them, not noticing how her body reacted to the exertion.  Instead, she was propelled on by a heady cocktail of adrenalin, fear and guilt which, combined with her body being more used to the physical challenge of Afghanistan than Holby, meant she arrived at the doctor’s station in record time and barely out of breath._

 

_“Where is she?” demanded Alex, making a beeline for the first medic she saw, her voice hoarse but firm, speaking the words quietly but in such a way that the urgency was clear - this was not a woman who was going to be dismissed with a non-answer._

 

_“I’m sorry?”  Not appreciating the tone of voice he heard, Guy Self didn’t bother turning around to look at whoever it was who felt they could make such demands of him._

 

_“You…”  Alex spun around when she heard his voice, recognising it from a lecture she’d heard some time ago.  “I…”_

  
_***********_

 

_“Bernie?” Zosia made a couple of quick annotations on Ms Wolfe’s chart as she spoke, wondering if this would be the obs check in which Major ‘please, Bernie’s fine’ Wolfe would engage.  It wasn’t that she had gone completely catatonic and despondent - she was far too familiar with the protocols in those situations to fall into the trap of being caught with more intrusions than the regular obs checks and Marcus hovering.  Instead, she’d taken care to engage with the staff just enough to stay firmly in the ‘she’s had a bad shock, she’s still coming to terms with it, give her a bit of time before we start thinking about Psych’ zone, a zone she’d determined meant she could tune out for all her visitors and about half her obs checks, including this one.  “Do you want to see your chart?” asked Zosia, offering the chart to the surgeon, wondering if this would be the moment she showed any interest in wanting to understand what her exact situation was, what her options might be._

 

_Expecting silence, Zosia jumped when they both heard a loud crash come from outside Bernie’s room, followed by a woman’s voice, clearly hoarse with barely contained fury start to berate someone._

 

_“I’ll shut the blinds,” she observed, thinking she’d at least give Bernie the illusion of privacy as they heard another crash._

 

_“Open the door.”  It was the first time Bernie had spoken to Zosia since the post-op checks that had gone so wrong._

 

_“But…” Confused, Zosia pointed behind her, towards the doctor’s station where the woman, whoever she was, was clearly laying into whichever colleague of Zosia’s had the misfortune to be in the apparently extremely angry and distressed woman._

 

_“I said open the door.”_

 

_It was in that moment, with those five words ground out through a clenched jaw, that Zosia realised that despite everything else that was happening to her at the moment, Major Wolfe had not yet abandoned her position, but was still here, lingering in a part of Bernie that wasn’t quite ready to give up the battle._

 

_“Yes Ma’am.”  The militaristic manner of address had slipped out of Zosia before she’d realised she had done it, but neither of them noticed. In the split second after Zosia opened the door a fraction of an inch, Bernie heard the voice of the woman clearly enough to know precisely who she was and began to picture her angry and determined in her uniform, whilst at the same time, Zosia gasped when she realised that this woman, whoever she was, was currently trying to replicate the Major’s C5 and C6 damage on Guy Self, the surgeon who hadn’t been able to repair it._

 

_“STAND DOWN CAPTAIN.”_

 

_At the sound of Bernie’s voice, slightly scratchy from underuse at first, roaring through the ward, everyone stopped, not just the woman in khaki who remained bent over Guy Self, his blue scrub shirt bunched in her fist.  Unable to see what was happening from her position lying flat on her back, Bernie had to try to work out what was going on from how the silence ‘sounded’._

 

_“Release him Captain...” she continued, her voice returning to a more appropriate volume now she had everyone’s attention.  “...it’s over Alex…” she continued, reaching blindly out with her right hand, not caring that she might be increasing the risk of further damage to her spine, attempting to make contact with her fellow officer who remained far beyond her reach.  “I’m not coming back.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Alex awoke with a gasp, the image of her best friend calmly accepting her paralysis staying burned in her mind even as she was telling herself it was just the nightmare.  Running her fingers through her lank hair, she didn’t need to feel the dampness in her t-shirt to know she’d sweated her way through the latest rerunning of her worst nightmare, a nightmare that managed to be worse than the hell that was the reality.

 

Telling herself it was only a nightmare, Alex checked the time on her watch, the luminous hands the only points of brightness in the otherwise pitch black dark of her bunk: almost 3am, no more sleep for her tonight....

 

Pinching the bridge of her nose, trying to create the illusion of something to focus on outside of her own overactive imagination, Alex blinked rapidly and attempted to think about the countless lives she’d help change for the better once dawn broke.  It wasn’t as restful as sleep, but it was the nearest she got now, thanks to the nightmare.  It was the same one, always played out to the same broad conclusion: the surgery hadn’t worked, Bernie couldn’t walk, couldn’t get straight back to Alex at the double. In one single, IED fueled moment, her best friend, soulmate and lover was lost to her, taken out of her reach, broken beyond their combined ability to repair...

 

Working the shift at Holby hadn’t made the nightmares stop - she’d not really expected that it would, but had maybe hoped it would have helped to soften the horrors her overactive imagination was forcing on her when she finally succumbed to sleep.  Instead, it kicked into overdrive, the nightmare becoming more traumatic with each night as, rather than using the shift worked at Holby to make Bernie’s recovery more in line with reality,  her mind tortured her by refining the details of the Ward and medics, making the lie seem more real, more believable: it had helped turn fuzzy, not quite focussed horror into high definition, cinema quality hell.

 

Turning onto her right side, no longer able to sleep on her left side due to the memories it triggered of an earlier time, when her best friend had also been her lover, Alex ignored the silent tears that streamed down her face and tried to remember who was first on the list for the morning, whose life was going to be changed for the better, knowing it wasn’t going to be hers.


	2. Chapter 2

“Ms Wolfe?”

 

“Yes Dr Copeland?”  Responding to her name, Bernie looked up from the computer screen and considered the junior doctor thoughtfully, unaware that she was rubbing the back of her neck as she did so.

 

“Mrs Williamson’s temperature is steady.”  He looked at his file to check he was saying the right thing, finding like so many aspiring surgeons before him, that being the object of Ms Wolfe’s total focus was extremely disconcerting.  “I’ll check again in two hours, but it seems like the infection is responding to treatment.”  

 

“Suggesting?” she prompted, watching his face turn thoughtful as he looked back at the file, trying to work out what else she was expecting him to be able to tell her.

 

“Suggesting…” he flicked between two pages, comparing the temperature recordings with the times of the doses, trying to work out what else this file might be telling him, “...that she will potentially be ready for surgery in two days if she continues to respond to treatment tonight and tomorrow as she has done so far?”  He managed to stop himself chewing on his lip whilst he waited for her response, knowing her well enough now, after the few months she’d been on Keller, to understand that if Ms Wolfe was letting him hang onto the file, it meant she was asking to help him learn more, not to chastise him for forgetting something he was supposed to already know.

 

“Spot on Dr Copeland.”  Pleased that he’d worked out the most probable timeframe for the rescheduled operation, Bernie’s mind was already turning back to what she’d been reading before his update.

 

“I’m off on Tuesday.”  No sooner had he said it than Dom was biting his lip and wincing - he’d really not meant to say that out loud, and certainly not loud enough for her to hear.

 

“What was that Dr Copeland?” Bernie had registered he’d spoken but so extreme was her distraction that she hadn’t paid attention to what he’d actually said.  Instead, her eyes had remained glued to the computer screen as she turned her head slightly in his direction, never stopping from rubbing her neck, obviously trying to see something more clearly on screen.

 

“It was nothing.”  Realising he’d maybe got away with his accidental grumble about missing out on Mrs Williamson’s surgery due to his shift pattern, Dom was now far more interested in what was holding Ms Wolfe’s attention on screen.  “Are in you pain?”

 

“What?”  This time, not only did she hear the question, but she appeared to realise she was rubbing her neck and snatched her left hand away from her neck, as if it had been burnt.  “Oh! No, nothing like that…” began Bernie, trying to shrug off the attention, preparing to gloss over the truth with a bland statement and an obscure test of his medical knowledge.

 

“Did you always rub your neck that much?”  He’d done it again, spoken out loud when he hadn’t meant to, sure she would have seen his cheeks were burning had it not been for the overhead lights being dimmed in deference to the early morning hour, the golden glow of the small desk lamp and computer monitor giving him the confidence to keep going when others would have stopped already or better yet, never started.  “Before, I mean… did you rub your neck much before the…”

 

“The IED blew me up you mean?” asked Bernie, correctly interpreting his vague hand waves and seeing his funny head shake nod gesture that she’d seen him resort to when Essie was asking him about how his weekend had been.  “I…”  The glib dismissal of his concern that she’d expected to give died on her lips as she found her traitorous memory tormenting her with the feeling of Alex’s fingers digging into the tight muscles in her shoulders after a long operation, of her thumbs running firmly along tendons as she sought out the spot that was just that infinitesimal bit sorer and tighter than everywhere else.  “Yes.”  She distracted him from her wistful expression by catching some loose strands of hair that were irritating her cheek and tucking them behind her ear before joking, “but nothing a hot shower and feather pillow won’t fix.”

 

“Get many of those in Afghanistan?”

 

He saw the shuttering of her expression the second he’d started to mention an ‘A’ word.  He was confident that he was the only one who noticed, who’d spotted that when she sensed one of  _ those _ words was coming she pulled down some shutters, prepared to harden her heart and push straight on without lingering, not staying long enough for the memories to emerge.  ‘Afghanistan’ was one of the words...that one came up almost as much as ‘Army’, two of the words more obviously associated with her, part of her character bio that was recited to any new staff member who noticed her: ‘that’s Ms Wolfe.  Arrived as a patient, Major Wolfe, blown up by an IED in Afghanistan, sometimes she might forget you’re not also in the Army, but not so much anymore.’

 

“I’m sorry Ms Wolfe…” the words were tumbling from him before she’d realised that she was closing off, putting up the barriers, trying to hide behind something that he’d already seen through and tossed aside.  “...that was uncalled for and totally over the line….” he knew he was babbling but he wanted her to know that he remembered, that he still believed what he’d said, that he’d sincerely meant that her private life was her own and it was no one’s fault who they loved.

 

“Look at this?” she asked, lifting her hand to the monitor she’d been studying when he’d arrived with his update.  “The photograph…” she explained as she pushed herself to the side, the squeak of the wheels on the chair sounding loud on the shadowy, slumbering ward, “...I can’t see too well but…”  She sat back, allowing him to take hold of the mouse, to click and drag and tap and manipulate the screen so that the small, slightly wonky photograph that was included in the newsletter article was a little bit larger, fuzzier but clear enough for him to immediately see what she’d been looking at and instinctively move the mouse so the cursor was pointing at the chin of the dusty, elated but exhausted looking doctor at the edge of the group, “...is that Alex?”

 

And that was when he saw it, saw the reason why she shuttered so quickly when she thought she was about to hear one of those words.

 

Afghanistan.

 

Army.

 

Anaesthetist.

 

Alex.

 

Those ‘A’ words… those words that made her shatter.

 

* * *

 

  
  


Clicking on the unread mail folder, Alex stared at the email, as she had done for the last four nights, wondering if she dared to open it, wondering if she was dreading knowing more than she’d been hating not knowing.

 

Tomorrow she had to decide, decide if she was returning to the UK for a week in order to pack what remained of her life into storage before spending the rest of her contract going from remote community to remote community on this flying hospital which enabled people young and old to see, to walk, to smile…. 

 

Or she stuck to the original plan, went back to the UK tomorrow and wrote up her report, providing her insights into what could be learned and borrowed from the very latest in military medicine ‘in theatre’ to enable these flying hospitals to not only keep going, but go further, both geographically but also medically.

 

She’d stopped trying to kid herself that the email had no bearing on her decision when she’d first seen it sitting there.  As far as the rest of the team had been concerned, it had been a perfectly ‘normal’ day, with operations completed and lives changed, but for Alex it had been a day in which every operation had some element or moment that made her miss…  So, as the time came to turn in, unable to face her inevitable nightmare when she slept, she’d sought out one of the elderly laptops that just about enabled them to keep in touch no matter how remote their landing strip had been.

 

She’d been proud of herself when, the second night she couldn’t face the nightmare and instead sought the solace of a marathon of minesweeper, she realised she had options.  As she lost her umpteenth game in a row, she’d worked out she could write her report just as well at her post on the plane team, performing surgery that made a difference to hundreds of people every week, as she could back in the UK, back where her life was supposed to be.

 

She was glad no one had seen her frustration when she realised, last night, that it didn’t actually matter where she was when she wrote her report because, as good as her report might be (and it would be very good, she wouldn’t have applied for the opportunity if she hadn’t expected to deliver), Bernie’s input would make it better, make it brilliant.  It didn’t matter if Bernie never saw the flying hospital, never performed an operation, never met Alex’s eyes across the ether screen and winked before declaring that their work was done, that another surgery was successful.  Bernie made everything better: no surgeon or antibiotic could correct that dependency, could mend Alex’s heart.

 

And so here she was, wearing her last clean t-shirt, tonight’s attempt at sleeping abandoned along with the sweat-soaked t-shirt she’d been wearing when exhaustion forced her to sleep.

 

Tomorrow she had to decide, which meant today she needed to know, she needed to know what was in that email, needed to know if the last glimmer of hope she’d been desperately clinging onto had finally faded.

 

Click.  

 

The email was open.

 

Now she would know.

 

_ I don’t know if this email will reach you, wherever you are. _

 

_ Do you even know you’re in the RAMC newsletter this month?  Probably not, it’s not exactly your style, which is why you almost managed to avoid being in the photograph, almost. Don’t worry, the accompanying article doesn’t mention you, it’s just a general piece about ways we can ‘continue to make a difference’ when our Commissions are up.  I’m not surprised that you’re there, making a difference to all those families, just like we talked about doing one day... _

 

_ I promised I would keep this short.  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stray from the present, just wanted to explain why now, at this stupid hour of the morning when I could be not on the ward, that I’m trying this email address. _

 

_ It’s done, the divorce.  He got everything, I let him take everything except my stethoscope, Commission and bergen.  I’m still at Holby, Consultant General Surgeon (Trauma) is what it says on my security pass.  Trauma.  It’s what I do, it’s all I have. _

 

_ I miss you.  I miss my best friend.  I miss my soulmate and lover.  I miss you Alex. _

 

_ You don’t need to reply, I know I don’t have the right to ask you to.  But you have the right to know. _


	3. Chapter 3

Shouldering his backpack, Dom shimmied around a parked car and jogged across the car park, intent on heading to the bench on the far side.  He only had ten minutes left of his break, but that was all the time he’d need to write his mother’s birthday card and get it in the post.  That was the beauty of that bench, there was hardly ever anyone sat on it, so he’d have a minute to himself, two if he could get across the road before that ambulance…

 

There was someone on the bench.

 

Cursing his luck, Dom sighed as best he could whilst slowing from a jog to a walk, intending to just continue past the bench and loop back into the hospital.  Not that it really mattered, it wasn’t like the post could be relied upon: his mother would cope with her card if it arrived a day late.  Pleased with his amended plan, Dom continued to walk at a more leisurely pace along the pavement, having no desire to return to Keller before the end of his break. 

 

“Nice boots…” he muttered to himself, automatically noticing the brown lace up boots worn by the person on the bench as he approached, wondering if they’d move their outstretched legs to let him pass.  Two steps away and the boots were definitely very nice, and very much in his way.

 

“Excuse me…” 

 

At the sound of a voice, Alex jerked out of her daze and instinctively tucked her feet under the bench, ignoring the creaking protests from her knees at being asked to bend again. “Sorry…”

 

“Thanks…” Smiling tightly, Dom was about to carry on without breaking his step when he  looked at her and stopped dead.  “You’re…”  He gestured vaguely, not quite sure what he wanted to call her.

 

“Alex.”  Alex pulled her hand out of her jacket pocket and waved weakly, not sure whether she was relieved or annoyed that one of the few people in this hospital who might have remembered her just happened to be walking past this bench in the middle of the afternoon.  “Just Alex Dr…” she searched her memory for his name, “Dr Copeland.”

 

“Are you back?” He didn’t sit down, but this was interesting and, based on how everyone on Keller had breathed a sigh of relief when AAU had requested Ms Wolfe’s help with a patient an hour ago, not a planned visit.

 

“I don’t know.”  Alex stretched her legs out again and appeared to be fascinated in the patina on the leather of her boots.

 

“She doesn’t know you’re here…”

 

“No.  Is she?”  Alex looked back up at him, not sure if she wanted the answer to her question to be yes or no.  “Is she here?”

 

“Yes, but you’re can’t see her….” No sooner had he said the words than he regretted how he’d spoken.  “Wait!”  He reached out a hand to stop Alex grabbing her huge rucksack and standing.  “Not like that.”  Alex didn’t let go of her rucksack, but did stay still, did try to ignore the churning of her stomach long enough to hear the younger man out.  “Look…” Dom glanced at his phone and sighed, seeing he really didn’t have much time, or any time to do say this nicely.  “You can’t see her now because she’s helping AAU, and then she’s in theatre the rest of her shift.  And you can’t see her at the end of her shift…” He ignored Alex’s frown and instead took off his backpack, rummaging in a pocket for something, “looking like…” he was about to say ‘your best friend died’ but stopped himself just in time.  “Let’s just say a shower and a snooze would do you good, not to mention pass some time before Ms Wolfe leaves at about 10pm.”  He stuck his hand out towards her, holding a small bunch of keys.  “Here, take these.  76 Whitehaven Close, flat 4.  Mine’s the room with the navy blue bed, and there’s clean towels in the drawer in the bed base, you know, the…”

 

“The divan.  The drawer in the divan,” provided Alex automatically, stunned at what was happening.

 

“The divan, right.  Thanks.”  Dom shook the keys gently in her eyeline until she reached out and took them.  “So, 76 Whitehaven Close, flat 4.  Use my room, have a shower, do some laundry, make yourself some food, whatever… and come back at 10.”

 

“Why are you doing this?” asked Alex, accepting his phone and understanding he wanted her to text her own mobile so he had her number and vice versa.

 

“Honestly?  You look like shit.”  His bluntness in combination with his kindness caused Alex to smile, not the bright smile he remembered from when she’d introduced herself that day, but a duller, almost defeated smile that didn’t suit her but did match the one he realised he’d become accustomed to seeing from Ms Wolfe.  “And because she does too.”  He took back his phone when she held it out, glancing down to see the text message she’d sent herself, and the time stamp, reminding him he now really did have to run back to Keller.  “My break’s over.  Come back at 10, leave your stuff at?”

 

“76 Whitehaven Close, Flat 4.  I remember.  What about your keys?”

 

“I’ll meet you here, you can give them to me then.”

 

“And my stuff?”

 

“Tomorrow’s problem,” shrugged Dom, shouldering his backpack again and got ready to run back to Keller. “Packhorse isn’t a good look for you.”

 

“Thank you Dr Copeland.”  Alex stood up so she could look him directly in the eye, his keys grasped firmly in her hand.

 

“Dom, not Dr Copeland.”  He looked at her, clearly caught in two minds as to whether to say what was on his mind.

 

“Spit it out Dom, or you’ll be late back,” encouraged Alex, knowing that she’d hear whatever he wanted to say, she owed him that much.

 

“She tenses, every time one of the A words is used.  And there’s nothing anyone here can say or do to help.”

 

“A words?”

 

“Afghanistan.”  He watched Alex’s face, knowing he was taking sides, knowing he was being unkind, but knowing that neither Ms Wolfe or Alex would survive unless they tried to talk to each other.  “Army.”  Alex blinked but, ever the perfect soldier it would seem, kept her face neutral.  “Anaesthetist.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to get through a shift trying not to say that word?”

 

“Yes.” She knew her cheeks were wet, knew the moisture was her tears, knew she wasn’t really making sense but not able to explain: he didn’t have the time and she didn’t have the words.

 

“Alex.”

 

“I’m ok,” dismissed Alex, waving at Dom to stay where he was, thinking that was why he said her name.

 

“No,” corrected Dom sadly, not liking what he was doing but knowing she needed to know if there was any chance of these two women finding a way to find each other again.  “That’s the worst A word of all.  Be here at 10?”  He had to go, he really had to go now.

 

“I’ll be here at 10,” she confirmed, watching him as he ran across the car park, expertly dodging the ambulances and parked cars as he zig zagged his way to the Wyvern Wing main entrance, the main entrance she’d raced through every night in her nightmare.  

 

A passing ambulance obscured her view of the entrance, bringing her back to the present with a jolt, but not before she’d seen him safely dart into the building as she finally acknowledged what she’d always known but never been able to consciously admit to herself...that as long as Bernie was still at Holby, so too was a part of Alex, the part that made her whole.  

 

Shouldering her rucksack, Alex automatically fastened the chest and waist straps so the heavy pack sat squarely and safely on her back before reaching into her pocket and extracting her phone which showed the expected text message from Dom’s phone.  Unlocking the screen, she found her maps app, only belatedly realising she needed to turn her mobile data back on now she was back in the UK.

 

“76 Whitehaven Close…” she muttered, reopening the maps app, glancing at her watch whilst it loaded, “...where the hell is that?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Alex?”

 

“Here are your keys.”  Alex held out the keys, standing up as she did so, trying to work out why he had run so fast - it was only just 10, so he wasn’t late, and it wasn’t like she’d have complained if he had been.  “Where’s the fire?”

 

“Behind me, and it’s a wolf not a fire.”  He shoved his keys in his jeans pocket, casting a critical eye over her from head to toe.

 

“Ah.”  Alex shoved her hands in the pockets of her own jeans, accepting the scrutiny.  “Thank you, again.  My stuff’s in the corner, by your bookcase.”  She looked at him carefully, looking for the little hints and clues that anaesthetists learned to see in surgeons who were rushing because they were too close to the edge, too aware that they weren’t in control.  “What happened?” she asked finally, not seeing any hints of a surgery gone wrong, a patient not restored to health.

 

“Send me a text if you need to crash at mine later.”  He felt bad for not telling her that nothing had happened, at least, nothing new had happened during their shift, but he’d already promised Ms Wolfe once that her private life was her business, not his, a promise he was reasonably certain he’d technically broken but was probably forgivable, for the moment.  Being there to see her see Alex for the first time in months?  That was an intrusion he couldn’t forgive himself for, never mind what Ms Wolfe might think.  “Good luck!”  And with a degree of energy that surprised him after a very long, slow shift, Dom jogged off to catch up with the others already at Albie’s.

 

“Thanks…” For the second time that day Alex watched him run across the car park, marvelling at his skill at dodging the cars and ambulances, absently wondering if she’d ever been that nippy, or had the need to be...

 

* * *

 

 

“Alex?”  Bernie’s steps slowed as her stomach started twisting into a tight knot when she thought she recognised the familiar looking stance of the long-limbed brunette stood by the bench in the car park, her attention clearly being held by someone or something heading towards the car park exit.

 

“Hello Bern…” The abbreviated abbreviation slipped out before Alex could stop herself, could remind herself she didn’t have that right.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“I’m…” Alex was about to say that she wasn’t sure, that she didn’t really know, when suddenly, as she looked at Bernie, really looked at this woman who had been her lover, was still her best friend even when they weren’t speaking, would always be soul mate, she realised that she knew exactly why she was here.  “I’m trying to sort my life out.”

 

“I see.”  Bernie forced herself to keep walking towards her, even though every step caused the knot in her stomach to tighten further.

 

“Do you?” Alex’s voice was thick as she tried to keep herself together enough to try to explain.  “Because I thought I did, but I only discovered what I don’t want.”

 

“What don’t you want?” Bernie was standing close enough that she could see the individual tears gathering at the corners of Alex’s eyes, stood too close for friendship, closer than she’d ever thought she’d ever be allowed to get again.. standing close enough to know that it wasn’t close enough.

 

“To be away from you.”

 

“I’ve missed you…”  Bernie held out her hand, wondering if Alex would take it.

 

“I’ve missed you so much…” Alex took Bernie’s hand and held it tightly.

 

“I know we need to talk,” said Bernie carefully, noticing how exhausted Alex was looking, “to make this, us last…” 

 

“Yes. I’m sorry…”

 

“Shhh….” Bernie instinctively leaned forwards and kissed Alex’s forehead, trying to soothe away some of the demons that were evidently not only hers alone to battle.  “We need to talk,” she repeated, smiling with a gentleness she hadn’t felt for months as she automatically tucked some strands of hair behind Alex’s ear, “but not just now.”

 

“Bern…” Alex’s heart was pounding as she tried to understand what Bernie was saying, unwilling to let herself hope.

 

“I need to sleep…” admitted Bernie, knowing that she’d never admit to anyone else how draining she found the shifts on the ward with their hours of sameness, “...and you do too.”  She looked at Alex’s face with a clinician’s eye, noting the dark shadows under her eyes, the slightly more pronounced cheekbones that spoke of months of snatched bites of food that didn’t adequately replace the energy expended in working as hard as Alex always did.  “I don’t think we need to talk to rest together…” Bernie wasn’t naive enough to think that simply knowing Alex was back would be enough to despatch the demons, to enable her nights to become peaceful, but she was brave enough to try.

 

“Are you asking me out?” It was a weak joke, but it was all Alex could think to say that wouldn’t make her silent tears turn into heaving sobs.

 

“In actually.”  Bernie’s grin was fleeting but bright, the attempted humour spotted and appreciated.  “Can you stay?  Tonight?”  Suddenly Bernie remembered that Alex had just been standing by the bench, without any bags.  “Or is there somewhere you need to be?”

 

“Yes.  I mean, yes I can stay,” confirmed Alex, smiling tentatively as she felt her heart stop pounding with fear as she finally started to understand that they were getting their second chance, started to believe their second chance could last.  “Tonight and every night, if you’ll have me.”

 

“Where’s your stuff?”

 

“Dom, ah, Dr Copeland.”  Alex laughed at Bernie’s confused look of disbelief.  “I came here from the airport… apparently packhorse isn’t a look I can pull off.”  

 

“Spa day…” mumbled Bernie, finding she was breathing a little more easily as she realised she really was holding Alex’s hand, really was starting to walk towards her car, really was having her second chance.

 

“What?”

 

“Dom, as a thank you.”  Bernie looked at Alex, realising she hadn’t a clue what she was talking about.  “He’s always trying these face packs and things…”

 

“Ah.”  Bernie watched as Alex lapsed into a thoughtful silence, only for her shoulders to twitch as if she’d just been surprised with an ice cube.  “Thanks for the mental image Bern…” she teased, looking sideways at the blonde, her eyes alive with mirth.

 

“Thanks for saying yes.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Alex?”  Blinking sleepily, Bernie tried to pull Alex’s sweaty body closer to her own in an attempt to provide some physical reassurance that she wasn’t alone.  “Wake up Alex…” she continued, propping herself up with her left hand so she could look over Alex’s shoulder and see her best friend who was currently clutching Bernie’s right hand to her chest like a man overboard clings to a life belt.

 

“No…” groaned Alex, slumping forwards, still more asleep than awake, trapping Bernie’s right arm against her chest, pulling Bernie forwards as she slumped, “...Bern…”

 

“I’m here…” Bernie kissed Alex’s neck, just below and behind Alex’s right ear, the only bit she could reach given their slumped and sprawled position, “...wake up Alex, please, wake up…” she coaxed, unable to extract her right hand from Alex’s strong grip and equally unable to use her left hand to try and rouse her as moving her left arm would just result in her collapsing fully onto Alex.

 

“Bern?” Alex blinked as she came fully awake, recognising her shirt was soaked with sweat like every night for the last few months, but also registering that she wasn’t in her bunk on the plane, and she wasn’t alone.

 

“I’m here…” Bernie kissed Alex’s neck again, tasting the sweat and feeling the tremors that were still lingering, “...roll back?” she encouraged, starting to ease herself back, knowing that even if Alex wasn’t consciously understanding what she was asking, the momentum from her own roll, coupled with some muscle memories of waking up together before should kick in and help.

 

“Sorry…” Feeling guilty at how far over she’d pulled Bernie, Alex tried to lessen her grip on Bernie’s hand as she felt Bernie ease back, coaxing them both back onto their sides and then further onwards, so that Bernie was lying flat on her back.  “I should shower.”  Alex tried to let go of Bernie’s hand and sit up, but her body was disobedient, her legs and arms heavy and refusing to budge.

 

“In a minute…” With her right hand Bernie carefully tucked the lank strands of sweaty hair behind her lover’s ears, making it easier for Alex to see that she wasn’t in a bunk or a base, but in the not quite dark bedroom of Bernie’s little flat, the orange glow of the street light seeping through the curtains.  “Keep me company a second?” she asked, whilst using her left arm, which Alex was half lying on, to gently touch Alex’s side wherever she could reach, trying to prompt her into shuffling just enough so that they were both comfortable.

 

“I should shower…” repeated Alex, pulling at the damp t shirt that she’d borrowed from Bernie to sleep in, although her actions contradicted her words as she carefully shuffled and shifted so that she was now lying on her right side, her body tucked up against Bernie’s, her head resting on Bernie’s left shoulder.

 

“I can find you another top,” promised Bernie, snaking her left hand up and over Alex’s hip so it was resting on her waist, holding her protectively against her.

 

“It’s every night…” admitted Alex quietly, realising that the steady thumping she could hear inside her head wasn’t the pounding of a headache but the beating of Bernie’s heart.

 

“The nightmare?”

 

“Mmm…” Alex hadn’t noticed that she’d found the drawstrings of Bernie’s pyjama bottoms with her left hand and was playing with them, the cords and knots being tangled through her fingers, occasionally brushing against Bernie’s stomach as she wound and unwound the cords.  “it’s you…”  Alex hadn’t meant to tell her, not now, not tonight, but here, in her sweaty wet top, with the steady thump of Bernie’s heart beating in her ear, it felt harder to not tell her.  “...in the nightmare.”

 

“The explosion?”  That was Bernie’s nightmare.  She’d not really known anything of the explosion, just the realisation that their jeep was off the road and that Alex was ok.  It was only later, after she’d been discharged from Darwin for a couple of weeks, that she was offered a read of the report into the ‘enemy contact’, saw for herself how lucky they were, how lucky she was that Alex had survived.

 

“No…” Alex played with the drawstrings some more, not realising that she’d now undone the neat bow that Bernie had tied earlier, “although thanks for the suggestion,” she joked, knowing the darker humour that didn’t always seem in the best taste was sometimes the only way they’d survived some seemingly impossible hours under the worst of circumstances.

 

“Sorry.”  Bernie starting stroking whatever bit of Alex her left hand could reach in the vicinity of her waist while her right hand reached blindly for Alex’s fingers, trying to get them to tangle with her own hand rather than her pyjamas.  “Is this why you didn’t sleep on the flight?” Alex had earlier let slip she’d been awake for the whole of the twelve hour plus overnight flight up from Mozambique via South Africa and Amsterdam, to London, something which Bernie had picked up on as being out of character for Alex, who had always been one of the soldiers who could sleep to order, although waking up was invariably a different challenge.

 

“Maybe.”  Alex’s fingers had taken the hint and were now tangled with Bernie’s, their joined hands resting on Bernie’s stomach, the duvet well adrift from their bodies after their shuffling and turning.  “It’s your surgery, on your neck…”  Alex studied a small scar on Bernie’s knuckle, practically invisible to anyone who hadn’t spent hours studying the blonde, learning all of her body’s secrets and mysteries, knowing it was caused by a teenaged accident with a tray of wine glasses, “...it doesn’t work, and I’m too late to…”  Alex was crying as her explanation reached the point at which she’d usually manage to wake up before, usually manage to avoid having to face.

 

“To stop me risking everything because I thought I had nothing left…” murmured Bernie, pulling Alex tighter against her, like she was trying to prove to both of them that there was literally no distance between them.

 

“Yes.”  Alex lapsed into silence again as she tried to not remember the fight they’d had right before that drive, supposedly to visit a clinic their students had set up, that ended so abruptly.

 

“It got worse, after that shift, didn’t it?” asked Bernie finally, having selectively replayed and ignored her own memories from that day of quite literal ‘boom’ and ‘bust’.

 

“At Holby?  Yeah…” Anyone but Bernie and Alex would be lying about it, trying to change the subject or dodge the question except she wouldn’t have needed to, because no one except Bernie knew her well enough, understood her well enough to know that was the question to ask.  “I thought seeing you would help me see the dream made no sense… but instead…” Alex felt her tears falling faster and the lump in her throat was making her feel like she was being choked, stopping her words, silencing her.

 

“Instead it made it seem more believable, made it more real…” guessed Bernie, feeling Alex bury her wet face in Bernie’s chest as the tears fell freely now, a wordless confirmation that Bernie’s guess was spot on. 

 

“It’s stupid…” said Alex eventually, intellectually knowing that was far from true but finding it hard to accept here, lying in Bernie’s arms, in her bed, thousands of miles from IEDs.

 

“If your nightmare is stupid, so is mine,” declared Bernie robustly, moving her legs slightly so that she was in a better position to sit up.

 

“Point taken.  I should shower.”

 

“And then we’re both going back to the hospital,” declared Bernie, trying not to grunt when Alex, in her haste to sit up and turn around so she could look at Bernie, elbowed her rather sharply.

 

“Sorry…” Alex rubbed the spot on Bernie’s side where her elbow had done the damage, “it’s almost 2am and you want to go back to work?”

 

“No, I want us to go to a hospital where we can get some tests done,” explained Bernie, sitting up when Alex had shifted enough to give her some room.  “Tests on me.”

 

* * *

  
  


“Is that?”

 

“Ms Wolfe? Yes Raf, it is.”  Serena looked at him pointedly before turning back to the board where she very deliberately did not write Bernie’s name in against Theatre 2.  “And isn’t,” she added, looking at him, waiting to see how he reacted.

 

“Quiet tests for her friend?  Got it.  Will you or should I…” he glanced around, wondering which would be the best nurse to grab, should they need one to help.

 

“Not exactly.  And I’m fine on my own, just…” Serena looked around at the rather depopulated AAU as the various staff on the night shift took the opportunity to take their breaks or catch up on their paperwork while they could.  “...hold the fort?”

 

“No problem.”  He looked at the rest of the patients on the board before adding, “let me know if I can help.”

 

“Thanks.”  And, with a final glance around the AAU, Serena quietly headed over to Theatre 2 and, after gently knocking, slipped through the door, closing it behind her.

 

“So…” She stopped talking immediately, not sure what she had been expecting after agreeing to help Bernie run some tests ‘quietly’.  What she wasn’t expecting, was to see Bernie stood by the surgical bed and the person sat on the bed with their back to the door being held with such gentleness, their head resting on Bernie’s collarbone.  “...sorry…” she whispered, thinking that maybe the person Bernie was holding was asleep.

 

“It’s fine…” Bernie waved Serena to come over with one hand, but her other arm stayed firmly holding Alex against her.  “Alex?  Serena’s here…” Alex lifted her head and turned to look to Serena.

 

“Hi…”  Alex willed her exhausted body to find some energy from somewhere, to put on some sort of ‘front’ behind which she could hide, but there was nothing left.  After months of running on empty reserves and adrenalin, keeping her demons and fears bottled up deep inside, she’d finally exhausted her control when she’d let Bernie in.  That was the thing about Bernie, she always knew what to do to make things better, how to put people too broken for others to repair back together.  It didn’t matter that Bernie had been the one that had broken her, that was in the past and Alex hadn’t been entirely fair or beyond reproach in her behaviour either.  The past was the past, they were both broken, both needing to be repaired, put back together...Bernie was here, she didn’t need to hide her broken bits from Bernie, Bernie would know how to fix them both.  “I’m…” Alex didn’t really know what she was, so just waved a hand limply and settled back against Bernie’s chest, shifting her head slightly so she could once more hear the steady pulse of the surgeon’s heart.

 

“Normally a better conversationalist, but you’re let off,” teased Bernie, looking down at a drowsy Alex and pressing a fleeting kiss to her still shower-damp hair, before looking back up at Serena, over Alex’s head.  “Can you help me get an echocardiogram, ECG and MRI please?”

 

“Sure…” Confused, but trusting her friend and fellow surgeon, Serena managed to get her feet moving again and continued across the room to the bed and Bernie.  “Echo and ECG I can do in here, but we’ve got to go upstairs for the MRI.”

 

“Thanks.”  Bernie smiled in relief, knowing that Serena had to have lots of questions, had every right to not help her.  “Alex?”  Bernie shifted slightly, just enough to jerk Alex out of her almost snooze.  “You need to swap places with me.  Serena’s going to do the echo.”

 

“Sorry...”  Rubbing her eyes, Alex kept her hand on Bernie’s shoulder to steady her as she slipped down from the bed and stood, swaying a little until she got her balance.  “...I’m not normally dopey…” she began to explain to Serena, only to be distracted by an exaggerated groan from Bernie as she was adjusting the bed so she could lie with her back supported in an upright-ish position for the test.  “What?”

 

“Horrid pun,” said Bernie simply, preparing to sit on the bed, only to be swatted with surprising force by Alex, prompting Serena to intervene.

 

“What am I missing?” she asked, prompting both women to turn towards her, surprising her with how bright their eyes seemed to sparkle at the joke she hadn’t yet got, Alex still clearly exhausted but somehow managing to keep going, no doubt due to Bernie’s presence.

 

“She’s an anaesthetist.”

 

“No wonder she hit you,” Serena teased, intrigued by the effect this ‘Alex’ seemed to be having on Bernie.

 

“She loves me really…” The quip was out of Bernie’s mouth before she’d even realised she was saying it.  “Oh shit.”  She looked, horror-stricken at Alex, as she swung her legs up onto the bed, “I’m sorry…”

 

“She’s right,” shrugged Alex, looking at Serena to gauge her reaction, “I do.”

 

“You’re  _ that  _ Alex…” said Serena, not disagreeing with Bernie’s rather pointed ‘who else did you think this was?’ look, “I mean…” she amended, sending her own rather pointed ‘it’s your own fault, you’re useless at introductions’ look back to Bernie, “it’s great to finally meet you Alex, Bernie hadn’t told me you were in Holby, or that the middle of the night was her preferred time for introductions.”

 

“Bern’s favourite time for introductions is when she’s not in the room,” explained Alex, reaching out and shaking the hand that Serena offered, before letting her hand drop back to rest on Bernie’s knee, “and she didn’t know...this is all…” Alex rubbed the back of her neck, as if trying to stimulate her brain into working out what to say.

 

“About four hours old,”  Bernie reached out and caught hold of Alex’s hand, stopping her rubbing her neck with such venom.  “It’s not a secret…” added Bernie quickly, holding onto Alex’s hand as she spoke, speaking more to Alex than Serena.  “she’s my best friend, my soul mate…” Bernie looked at Alex, not sure if she had permission to call her ‘my lover’ again yet, only for Alex to help her out.

 

“Nice to meet you Serena, I’m Alex, Bernie’s lover.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Shouldn’t Mr Self be here?” asked Raf quietly as he and Serena waited in the observation and control room for the MRI scanner that Serena’s latest ‘I’ll owe you a favour’ card had secured for them, along with a locum MRI technician who had no idea who they were, didn’t care, and crucially, wouldn’t be heading out at to Albie’s with a gaggle of gossip hungry colleagues eager to know what was happening.  It was as close to a ‘doesn’t exist, never happened’ MRI as it was possible to get in this day and age of audit trails and efficiency drives.

 

“He’s the absolute last person that should be here,” replied Serena, more forcefully than she’d meant.  “Sorry…” she pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to centre her thoughts.  “Her neck is fine…”

 

“Ok…” If he’d been here at any other time than a little after 3am, with anyone other than Serena he’d have allowed his curiosity to evolve into suspicion and worry about what he was being dragged into.  Instead, he was curious and concerned, for the two women in the MRI room rather than himself.

 

“Sorry.”  Serena smiled weakly when she realised that was the second time she’d apologised in less than a minute.  “What I mean is, the scan is of Bernie’s neck, but it’s for Alex.”  Serena tipped her head in the direction of the scanner, where, in deference to both of their professional expertise, Serena was letting Alex help Bernie get settled in the MRI machine so that they could have a moment of relative privacy before Alex joined Serena and Raf in the Observation Room.

 

“Her partner?  Right.”  Although Raf vaguely remembered there being some mutterings earlier on about Ms Wolfe and her now ex-husband, the ortho consultant at one of the neighbouring hospitals, he was happy to go with the simple version which showed him Ms Wolfe with someone who she obviously loved very much, and it was clearly reciprocated.

 

“Yes, well…” Serena quickly reevaluated what she was going to say next, momentarily marvelling at how, for all their similarities compared to the students that passed through the hospital, the Rafs of the world were a different generation to her, a product of a different time, a time that was teaching that people were people and that was that.  It was almost all they knew, they hadn’t had to unlearn older, narrower rules and expectations first.  “Alex, her partner, was in the IED explosion as well.”  Serena waited to see which dots Raf would connect from that.

 

“Wait, that was before…” Raf waved his hands, loosely mimicking the removing of a wedding ring.

 

“Before Bernie’s divorce, yes.  Look, the details are none of our business but I can’t see how we can do the scan without you knowing, so here’s the quick and brutal version as far as I understand it…” began Serena, her voice shifting down to an even quieter, tenser whisper as she spoke.  Bernie had been right - as much as Serena respected her friend’s privacy, Raf did need to know the basics otherwise he’d make some innocent remark as they took Alex through the MRI scan and compared it to Bernie’s original pre-op scans and test results.  As much as it might hurt Bernie’s pride for Raf to know the bare facts of her relationship history with Alex, it would hurt her heart more if Alex had to explain it to him.

 

* * *

 

 

“Ok?” Alex’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper as she stood in front of Bernie, who was sat on the MRI scanner bed, her sock clad feet dangling off the side.

 

“Forty minutes to close my eyes and think of you?”  Bernie reached out and carefully repositioned the strands of Alex’s hair that always refused to stay neatly tucked behind her ear.  “I think I’ll cope,” she joked, trying to sound light-hearted but not quite succeeding, so instead trying to distract Alex by reaching out and straightening the collar of the shirt she was wearing.

 

“You don’t have to do this…” began Alex, again, knowing she was repeating herself and knowing, deep down, that she really did need Bernie to do this, to help her battle her demons.

 

“Yes, I do,” said Bernie simply, prepared to keep repeating herself until Alex believed her, “I’m going to do anything I can to help you with whatever it is you need or want…” she brushed her thumb carefully across Alex’s cheekbone, catching the tears that were falling once more. 

 

“I think I need this…” confessed Alex, tracing her fingertips up the hemmed edge of Bernie’s scrub top, using the line as a guide to lead her hands up to her lover’s neck, ghosting fleetingly over the skin as she sought out  _ the _ spot at the top of Bernie’s neck. She’d discovered it by accident, hiding In amongst the silky strands of blonde hair, somewhere she couldn’t give directions to but could always find.

 

“Mmm…” Bernie’s head lolled forwards gently and she couldn’t contain the contented, almost cat-like purring of delight when Alex’s fingernails raked over that spot, that place that only Alex had ever found, that place that Bernie never wanted anyone but Alex to find.

 

“You still like that…” marvelled Alex, feeling a weight lifting from her shoulders as her first deliberate touch to Bernie’s neck was not only familiar in feel, but also in result.

 

“I still like that…” mumbled Bernie, her head resting on Alex’s collarbone, their positions now perfectly reversed from earlier, with Alex now being the one holding Bernie.

 

“Thank you.”  Alex ran her fingers back down Bernie’s neck, smoothing the neck of the scrub top once more, not sure if she was relieved or disappointed that, in deference to her staff position and desire to be ‘quiet’ about these tests, Bernie was wearing an AAU scrub shirt rather than the more usual patient open-backed gown.  “You were right...” she continued to trace random patterns across the top of Bernie’s shoulders, trying to let go and step away but not yet able to, even for something as short as the MRI scan.

 

“What for?”  Bernie lifted her head up reluctantly, having been comfortable resting her head on Alex, trying to work out what she was being thanked for and being right about, specifically as she wasn’t going to risk trusting her guessing ability just now.

 

“Having this idea, of the tests…”  Alex ran her thumb over the faint scar on Bernie’s neck, the only external clue as to her lover’s neck surgery, a stark contrast to the bolder, bigger surgical incision scars she’d seen when Serena had done the Echo and ECG.  “I think it’s going to help…” Alex remembered the shock she’d felt when she’d first seen the scars, when she’d been looking at them but ‘seeing’ the explosion’s aftermath, unable to see past the memory of Bernie’s battered and damaged body and her own uninjured one.  She’d not been able to get out of the memory’s grasp until Bernie had reached out and, grabbing hold of Alex’s hand, had pulled off the surgical glove and deliberately guided Alex’s finger over the scars on her chest and up to the pulse in her neck, the steady rhythm that was tangible evidence of Bernie’s survival and presence helping Alex to finally shake herself free of the memory’s hold.

 

“Good…” Bernie’s hands had drifted to Alex’s hips and her thumbs had slipped under the hem of Alex’s shirt, resting on the warm, soft skin she found which was impossible not to aimlessly stroke, to soothe, to caress.  “...but if it doesn’t, we try something different… or we do it again…”  As much as she hadn’t particularly enjoyed being ‘examined’, with the scans and the tests reminding her of the dark days when she was recovering on Darwin, her body in Holby but her heart and soul in Afghanistan still, both equally broken, she’d do it all again and again if it helped Alex start to defeat the demons that caused the nightmare.

 

“You ready?” asked Alex, not wanting to let go of Bernie but knowing that she had to.  But she would keep reminding herself it was only for a little while, an important few minutes after which they would go back to Bernie’s and could shut the door on everything and everyone else and start to rebuild their happy bubble.

 

“I’ve got the easy part, I just get to lie back and think about you…” she teased, reinforcing her point with a playful tickle to Alex’s sides.  “What about you?” she asked, sobering immediately, knowing that not only was this emotionally draining for Alex, who hardly had much in the way of reserves in the first place, but it was also intellectually tiring too. 

 

“I…” Alex abandoned the idea of shrugging off Bernie’s question, of downplaying her concerns when she saw the worry in Bernie’s eyes, prompting her to give the question brief but serious thought.  Although they’d started with the same medical degrees and underlying knowledge, and Alex’s career as an anaesthetist had taken her to the same operating theatre and battlefield as Bernie’s career had as a trauma surgeon, it was one thing to be able to read an MRI (which Alex could definitely do, even when almost asleep) but quite another to be able to read the MRI scan and understand the risks that were taken in attempting the particular surgery, the moments that everyone’s hearts were in their mouths… and realise quite how lucky your lover had been to survive the explosion with what were ultimately, fully repairable injuries.  “...think it’s going to be easier…” she lowered her voice conspiratorially, “...I know we’re not there yet, and it wasn’t like that, but…”  Alex blushed as she thought about what she was going to have to confess to, “...I mean it’s not going to be easy, looking at the MRI, understanding just how bloody lucky we were that you walked away…” she stroked Bernie’s cheek, trying to catch the tears before they splashed, hot and wet, onto Bernie’s top.

 

“That we walked away…” corrected Bernie carefully, not wanting to hijack Alex’s thoughts but equally not wanting to let the brunette downplay her own miraculous avoidance of injury or worse, something that Bernie would always be grateful for.

 

“That  _ we _ walked away,” agreed Alex, accepting the correction.  “But as difficult as following the scan with Serena is going to be…” Alex started to grin as she realised what she wanted to say, “it won’t be as...taxing as trying not to react when you took your top off.”

 

“In a good way?” Bernie’s question was cautious, nervous.  They hadn’t yet talked about the physical side of their relationship, but at the back of her mind, Bernie was aware that the difference in their ages would, more often than not, be the source of misunderstandings and confusions when it came to their intimacy, with the potentially cruel hand of time gripping her more tightly than the younger Alex. Back at her flat, when they’d been getting ready for bed, there’d been the respectful turning of backs and averting of gazes as they’d each changed into sleeping clothes and slipped under the duvet, only really relaxing once they’d settled into their most comfortable sleeping position, still familiar and feeling ‘right’ despite their months alone and apart.

 

“Until I realised I was supposed to be looking clinically...and with Serena stood next to me.”  Alex hoped that Bernie’s sense of humour was undamaged and still awake, “I’m not a good sharer…”

 

“That’s a relief…” Bernie attempted to reply in an equivalently ‘light’ tone, but found that she couldn’t because suddenly, it all felt real in a way that the last few hours hadn’t quite, almost as if she was still battling the odd random demon who was trying to convince her she was currently dreaming this whole experience, from the sudden but welcome reappearance of Alex to actually completing the Echo and ECG without being interrupted.  But the one thing that was still feeling real, much to her relief, was the absence of wedding ring on her finger, the knowledge that finally, after a fair bit of hell and a lot of sacrifice that was worth every penny if it consigned her marriage to the history books, she was officially free to love the one she loved.  “Because I really don’t want to be shared…”  

 

Anything else that Bernie might have wanted to say was lost in a yawn, reminding her that as much as she didn’t want to mention sleep, or do anything that might mean this miraculous night had to come to an end, she couldn’t stay awake for ever, and neither could Alex, despite her evidently heroic attempts at doing exactly that for the last 6 months or so.

 

“Sorry…” she mumbled, knowing there was nothing more irritating when you were bone tired but unable to sleep, than someone yawning right in front of you.

 

“No…”  Alex silenced Bernie’s intended apology with her lips.  She’d only intended to brush her lips against Bern’s for long enough to stop the unnecessary words, but the moment their lips met, something happened, something that despite all her medical knowledge and experience and grown-up cynicism, was indescribable, impossible to fake and magical: as her lips touched Bernie’s and she felt her lover’s lips move every so slightly in welcoming response, Alex felt a fracture deep within her close up and heal...  

 

“Alex?” Foreheads resting against each other, Bernie willed herself not to reach forwards and chase her lover’s retreating lips, willed herself to keep still and steady and not allow the floodgates holding back all the love and desire that she had for this wonderful woman, her best friend, her soul mate.

 

“MRI…” Alex swallowed thickly, wanting to moisten her lips but not trusting her tongue to stop at moistening her own, “hospital...Serena…” She knew she wasn’t making perfect sense, but hoped that Bernie was following her enough to help.

 

“Scan, home, sleep.”  Bernie closed her eyes and counted to ten, “just sleep,” she repeated, reminding herself that this was just the beginning, that this time they were doing it properly, not breaking any rules, not needing to be satisfied with snatched moments and hidden glances.

 

“And then?” asked Alex softly, having unknowingly given herself an identical pep talk.

 

“And then we build our new happy bubble together…” Bernie took a steadying breath, wondering if Alex would remember the last time they’d been ‘in their happy bubble, “that is,  if you’ll have this battered old Major?”

 

“Would I have to salute you in the morning?” Alex’s eyes were closed, remembering a different early morning, Bernie stood at the end of Alex’s bunk, running on empty but buzzing with the adrenalin high of another successful surgery, and another local medic boosted in confidence.

 

“Only if we’re both in uniform…”  Bernie gave Alex’s hips a final gentle squeeze of reassurance before lifting her head away from  Alex’s and opening her eyes, “scan time?”

 

“Scan time,” agreed Alex and, with a final fleeting kiss to her lover’s forehead, she stepped back, giving Bernie the space to shift around and lie down on the stretcher that would take her into the MRI scanner itself.  “Comfy?” she asked, when Bernie had finally stopped shifting.

 

“For now.”  Bernie obediently fell silent as she saw Alex shift into ‘Dr Dawson’ mode in order to check that she was properly positioned on the stretcher so that when she went into the scanner they would get clear images.

 

“Looks good Bern…” Alex placed the emergency button in Bernie’s hand so that she could stop the scan if she had issues whilst in the tube of the scanner.  “Ready?”  Alex looked at her lover, her head held steady on the foam blocks that had allowed them to create the perfect ‘cradle’ for Bernie’s head to rest in so the images of the vertebrae were nice and clear.

 

“Ready,” confirmed Bernie, giving Alex a wink and permission to push her into the scanner.  She was more than ready, and not just for the MRI.  It was time to rebuild their happy bubble, together.


	5. EPILOGUE

“Gmph…”

 

In spite of her intention to slip from their bed and leave for work without disturbing her, Bernie allowed herself to clasp the hand that had landed in her lap as she continued to tidy Alex’s sleep-messed hair just enough that she could see her lover properly.

 

“It’s early, you’re supposed to be asleep,” the surgeon chastised gently, the words at odds with her tender caress and loving tone of voice.

 

“You’re not.”  Medics and soldiers were renowned for being able to leap from deep sleep to full alert, but Alex was a grump if she was woken, so much so that when they’d first had to scramble from sleep to surgery in order to save some young soldier’s life, Bernie had felt moved to ask the new anaesthetist if she was a masochist, since she could see no other reason why Alex was an army medic working in emergency medicine in a combat zone.  Not that much had changed in the last three and a bit years - Alex was still a grump when she was woken, but Bernie had discovered it was rather endearing, especially when Alex’s nose registered coffee.  “You made coffee?”

 

“I made coffee...but you were supposed to find it after I’d gone,” explained Bernie, trailing her fingers down her lover’s cheek and along her jaw before tapping her affectionately on the nose, “because it’s early, and you’re supposed to be asleep.”

 

“Bed was cold…” Major Wolfe’s raised eyebrow was legendary in the RAMC, with the rumour mill claiming that junior officers assigned to her surgical team were issued with extra underwear.  Alex however, had unsurprisingly developed an immunity to it.

 

“Go back to sleep,” encouraged Bernie, pointedly tucking the duvet in around Alex’s naked shoulders, removing the temptation to stay… and stay awake.  “I’m just going to work, nothing special.”

 

“It’s very special.”  Alex pushed the duvet aside and propped herself up on her elbow, enabling her to reach up and tuck the one strand of hair that always escaped back into Bernie’s neat, army neat bun.  “You’re very special.”  She leaned forwards and gently kissed Bernie’s lips before flopping back into the pillows.  “Go save some lives, _Ms_ Wolfe.”

 

“Not for much longer…” Bernie’s face broke out into a lopsided grin as she instinctively moved the strands of hair that were covering Alex’s face out of the way once more.  “It will be Major Wolfe to you by this time tomorrow… _Captain_ Dawson,” she teased, forcing herself to stand up, automatically pulling her uniform back into place as she did so.

 

“You’re missing your belt, _Ma’am…”_ Alex tried to draw attention to the missing stable belt by reaching out to catch hold of the waistband of Bernie’s camouflage patterned trousers, only for Bernie to step back out of reach, laughing.

 

“It’s in the kitchen, I was polishing it…”  Bernie wrinkled her nose at the memory of the smell, “...and no, I didn’t do yours,” she continued, correctly anticipating Alex’s question before her eye was drawn to the digital display of the alarm clock.  “I really do have to go…” The change in tone of her voice signaled to Alex that the time for teasing was past and this time, as Bernie stepped closer to the bed and leant over, Alex’s fingers caught hold of Bernie’s shirt in order to hold her steady long enough for Alex to sit up once again and reciprocate in the kiss that Bernie was offering.

 

“I love you…” instructed Alex in a hoarse whisper when their lips parted, caught unawares by the intensity of the memories of that morning on a day that had no end for months.

 

“I love you too…” It was only when Bernie pulled back enough to be able to see Alex’s expression that she made the connection.  “And I’m already looking forward to seeing you at the end of my shift to say it again, whatever I’m wearing.”

 

“Or not.”  Alex was grateful that Bernie hadn’t said anything about her emotional ‘moment’ - they’d already had the tears and the talks and they both knew that in the coming months they’d probably have them again, but not this morning.  This morning wasn’t about dwelling on the lows of the past, it was celebrating the highs to come in their future and, feeble as it was (certainly by Bernie’s standards, who could wise-crack as fast if not faster than she could suture), it was enough to make Bernie smile again.

 

“I look forward to it.”  And, with a final kiss, Bernie stood up tall and casually snapped off the perfect salute that would have made any Regimental Sergeant Major proud, were it not for the decidedly non-regimental wink and stuck out tongue that accompanied it, causing Alex to laugh in surprise, a laugh that echoed through the flat as Bernie left their bedroom.

 

* * *

 

 

Shutting their bedroom door carefully behind her, Bernie stood in the small hallway, which this morning was being made to look even smaller due to the ‘Black Bag’, the unoriginally titled large black kit bag that contained everything the Ministry of Defence deemed Major Wolfe needed in terms of uniform, from underwear to outerwear for rain or shine and ‘personal protective equipment’, in order to be ‘operational in theatre’.  Next to it was a virtually identical bag, only this one contained everything that the Royal Army Medical Corp expected Major Wolfe to have with her in terms of uniform and equipment, from stethoscope and scrub tops to phrase books and pen lights, in order to be able to operate in theatre.  Resting across the top of both of these bags was an open bergen, almost packed full of everything that Bernie needed in order to be Major Wolfe, and that Major Wolfe needed in order to be Bern.

 

For a brief second, all she could see was a memory, the flash of an image of the same bergen, and a similar black bag, dumped in a different hall.... the hallway that had supposed to be ‘home’, had supposed to be restful, had supposed to be where her heart, her literally bruised and battered heart was going to recover.  But although it had been the hallway of the house her literal bruises had healed in, it hadn’t been the place her heart had fully healed and discovered it had the regained the strength to not only beat again, but to pound and skip.

 

Closing her eyes, Bernie took a deep breath, revelling in being able to feel her ribs rise and fall without actually being able to feel her ribs twinge.  It wasn’t something she’d particularly thought about before the IED or the open heart surgery, but it was the most tangible ‘symptom’ she could remember from her injury, and therefore, the most tangible reminder that, as she opened her eyes again, she was standing in a different hallway as a different person… a healed person, a happy person.

 

Heading into the kitchen, she picked up her stable belt and put it on, instinctively making sure it settled about her waist, the ‘no, not blood red, it’s called dull cherry red’ band at the top, followed by the blue and gold.  Glancing around, she noticed the small indications of their life here - the photograph on the fridge of her children at the end of the half-marathon race they’d run, leaning against Alex who was looking fresher despite being significantly quicker than either kid, if Bernie could still consider her twenty-somethings ‘kids’, their matching finishers medals held proudly up for Bernie to see when she told them to ‘say cheese’; the bananas that Alex couldn’t stand sitting in the fruit bowl next to the apples that she rarely if ever got to eat because Alex had always beaten her to them; the calendar hanging on the wall with their shifts marked on it, the days when they were both off circled in biro and highlighter because each wanted to show the other that she’d noticed and was looking forward to it.  She didn’t need to open the fridge to see the yogurts she liked next to the freshly squeezed orange juice Alex insisted was the only way her breakfast was ‘complete’, or the cupboard to see the muesli they both agreed on next to Alex’s ‘Saturday treat’ of Coco Pops.  

 

Satisfied that there was nothing ‘missing’ from her bergen apart from the photograph, and that was only because it was saved on her phone, Bernie picked up her beret from the counter and returned to the hallway, before doubling back and grabbing the bananas and an apple, knowing the former would be wasted if she left them for Alex and the latter… smiling, she tucked the fruit in the top of her bergen, not quite able to decide just yet if she’d taken the apple to eat during her shift knowing it would be impossible to eat it without being reminded of Alex, or whether she’d taken it in order to have it to surprise Alex with when she next saw her.

 

The buzzing of her phone in her trouser pocket prompted her to stop trying to anticipate which of the two options would see her be teased the most by Alex, as she inevitably would be once Alex noticed the apple was missing.  Fastening the bergen, her hands methodically making light work of the familiar straps and buckles, Bernie stood up and extracted the phone from her pocket.  Reading the message, she typed out a quick reply before putting the phone away.  With one final glance at their closed bedroom door, the siren call of their bed and Alex calling to her in a way she’d never before felt when leaving for a new operational tour, Bernie squared her shoulders and picked up her uniform coat.  Seconds later, coat on and beret positioned with the cap badge sitting above her left eye, Major Wolfe was ready to shoulder bags and step forth into the next battle.

 

Settling the familiar weight of her bergen onto her shoulders, Bernie opened the front door and, kit bags in hand, ventured out into the bright sunlight of the early summer’s morning.  Putting one bag down on the steps, she turned and closed their front door, making sure it was properly shut before picking up the bag again and headed down the steps and down the road to where her lift was waiting.

 

“Serena, thanks for the lift…”

 

“My pleasure.”  Serena looked at Bernie thoughtfully, having never before seen her in her uniform, “this is it then?”

 

“Not yet.  I’ve got one more shift…” reminded Bernie, putting the two black kit bags in the open boot of Serena’s car, before heading around to the passenger side and opened the door.  She put her bergen carefully on the back seat, “...but transport is picking me up at the end of the shift and taking me to my posting which starts tonight.”  She got in, instinctively removing her beret and putting it on her knee as she shut the door.

 

“You didn’t need to work this late…” protested Serena for the umpteenth time, nevertheless incredibly grateful her friend had offered to stay until the last possible minute, happy to help out if it meant that Sacha Levy got a couple of weeks at home to get to know his and Essie’s new baby.  “And I know you don’t mind,” she continued, holding up her hand to stop Bernie interrupting her,  “but let me say thank you? One more time please?”

 

“Ok.” Bernie shrugged and grinned, looking expectantly at Serena who, after a moment’s puzzlement, swatted her friend on the arm.

 

“You knew what I meant!”

 

“I knew what you meant,” agreed Bernie, putting on her seat belt, “but I couldn’t resist.”

 

“I however,” began Serena, putting the car into gear, ready to drive off, “was not expecting you in uniform…”

 

“Easier to wear it to work and borrow some scrubs for shift than have even more kit to carry,” explained Bernie straightforwardly, knowing that wearing her uniform to the hospital also ensured that she wouldn’t have accidentally packed something that she needed to be wearing when she started at her new posting tomorrow morning.

 

“You’re excited,” observed Serena, checking her mirrors and releasing the handbrake, the early hour meaning they were the only vehicle on the residential street.

 

“Yes.  We both are.”  Bernie made no attempt to suppress her grin or conceal the sparkle in her eyes.

 

“Explain it to me again? What you’re both doing?” asked Serena, knowing they’d told her a couple of weeks ago, when she’d been invited round to have dinner.

 

“Too much shiraz…” teased Bernie, earning her another shove on the shoulder, although Serena wasn’t particularly keen to contradict her friend’s assumption.  She wasn’t sure how she’d explain that she’d been distracted during their news by the sudden realisation, not as to how obviously right they were together, two people in sync and in love (that was old news, obvious from the moment she’d first seen them together, in that strange part of the very early morning between 2 and 3am which was somehow too late to be night but too early to be day), but as to how close they’d come to never finding it again, and how brave they’d had to be, individually and together, to hang on to it.

 

“No such thing.  Alex is still in the Army?”

 

“She’s stayed in the Reserves, but is still a Captain.”

 

“So you outrank her…”

 

“Only when she’s on parade.  She _is still_ an anaesthetist…”

 

“And we are but humble surgeons whose cuts can only be done when the gasman permitteth,” agreed Serena, laughing, as she remembered her own experiences in ‘inter-speciality’ rivalry.

 

“Quite.”  Bernie smiled, keeping to herself her real answer to that question, preferring only Alex to know quite how ‘sappy’ she was when given a moment to be proud of her lover’s talents and achievements.  “But it does mean we’re not breaking the rules anymore.”

 

“Because she’s not in your command?” Serena remembered that from their few and infrequent discussions about Afghanistan, understanding why neither woman was eager to volunteer too much information about their time out there and therefore keeping a tight hold on her curiosity.

 

“Yes.  She’s basically a civilian, but is military enough should it ever be necessary, which is good.”  Serena didn’t know what ‘should it ever be necessary’ meant but decided she was happier not asking Bernie to explain.

 

“So you’re both off to the airport tomorrow?”

 

“Straight after my shift, and it’s airbase, not airport.”

 

“And then the Falklands.”  Since they were stopped at a red traffic light, Serena could look at her friend, “I promise I will never complain about agency staff covers again,” she said seriously, triggering Bernie’s unique laugh.

 

“It’s not _that_ bad…”

 

“It’s the South Antarctic!”

 

“South Atlantic Ocean actually,” corrected Bernie, amused, “and at least 800 miles north of the Antarctic Circle.  Green light,” she said pointedly, when Serena was still sitting looking at her and not the road.  “You must come and visit us.”

 

“I don’t know Bernie…” began Serena, turning into the hospital car park, concentrating as she drove through the archway, over the spot where her car had ‘died’, the spot where she’d first met the enigmatic, blunt army surgeon.

 

“Jason will love it, and we’d love you both to come…” continued Bernie, picking up her beret and methodically smoothing and shaping it, ready to put on as she stepped out of the car once Serena had stopped in her parking space.  “You’ve already got the hat for it!”

 

“I…” Serena turned off the engine and looked at her friend again, seeing the spark of mischief that she’d come to learn was never very far away with Bernie, but also seeing the steady, strong woman whose spirit in the face of adversity had occasionally flickered but never faltered, and who, along with Alex, had become two of her and Jason’s dearest friends.  “Will check with Jason, but I already know he will say yes, so thank you, _Major_ Wolfe, I look forward to visiting you and Alex, once you’re settled.  With my hat.”

 

“Good.  And it’s not Major Wolfe, not for…” Bernie looked at her watch, “another 24 hours and 13 minutes.”

 

“Best crack on then, _Ms_ Wolfe,” teased Serena, opening the car door but pausing before she got out.  “You wouldn’t want to get in trouble with the boss, not on your last day…”

 

Laughing, Bernie got out of the car and put her beret on before reaching back into the car and retrieving her bergen, having already agreed with Serena that she could leave the rest of her kit in the boot until Alex arrived later.

 

“Oh, I think that’s highly unlikely, Ms Campbell,” teased Bernie, catching Serena’s eye across the roof of her car as she fastened the chest and waist straps on her pack so it was comfortable.  “No reason to break a habit we all enjoy!”  And, with a wink and a smirk, Bernie shut the car door and set off with Serena to walk into Wyvern Wing for the last time and the first time:  the last time with a security pass in her pocket identifying her as Consultant General Surgeon (Trauma), and the first time as Major Wolfe, in uniform and on her own two feet.

 

“Try not to have too much fun…” And, with a wave and a sigh, Serena rushed off to see just what all the noise erupting from AAU was in aid of, hoping it wasn’t going to be one of those days.

 

Laughing, Bernie removed her beret and headed over to wait for the lift.  It hadn’t all been fun, or easy, or anything like she thought it would be, and it most definitely wasn’t the Army, but it had had its moments, given her some memories… given her and Alex their chance to be best friends, soulmates and lovers without breaking the rules, much.  As the lift doors opened and she stepped into the lift, pressing the button for Keller, a loose thread on her cap badge caught her eye and she started to tidy it away, taking care not to pull it all loose, since that would destroy the motto, embroidered in letters too tiny to read but there nevertheless.

 

**_In Ardius Fidelius: Faithful in Adversity._ **

 

For so many years she had tried to be exactly that.  Now, eighteen months after that fateful day, that moment when the bomb quite literally went off in her life, it started a chain reaction that was now, this morning, was about to be completed.

 

Stepping out of the lift, Bernie paused, shaking her head in amusement as, just as she had done on her first day on the ward, she’d picked up the forgotten ‘cleaning in progress’ sign and placed it over the puddle the cleaner was currently ignoring in favour of his texting, before heading onto the locker room to change and start her day, her last day as Ms Wolfe, no beret required.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
